


In the ashes, a seed

by falsepremise



Series: From Good to Great [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angel Sex, Angel Sexuality (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Brief genital swap by Crowley, Can be read as stand alone, Character Study, Character exploration for both Crowley and Aziraphale, Crowley Comforts Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Existential Crisis, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heaven is a cult, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mortality, Other, Porn with Feelings, Show is primary canon but the book is true unless contradicted by the show, Show-typical Heaven and Hell abusive and cult-like behaviour mentions, Smut, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), emotional fall out, intermingling, past forced intermingling brief mention (not between Azriraphale and Crowley), they're switches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsepremise/pseuds/falsepremise
Summary: In the wake of a failed Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley fully express their love. And yet, it isn’t quite over. They must also find a way to escape the wrath of Heaven and Hell, a means to cheat death...My take on that night at Crowley’s flat.This fic is part of a series but it can be read as stand alone without any difficulty at all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: From Good to Great [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919863
Comments: 14
Kudos: 84





	In the ashes, a seed

**Author's Note:**

> If you've already read my fic Great Omens, you may notice that you've read the first several paragraphs before. Read on to find out what happened for the rest of that fateful night...

**The evening of Armageddon-that-wasn’t**

**A bus driving to London though the driver doesn’t know why**

Aziraphale felt the bus lurch forward dramatically before he could take a seat. Crowley quickly offered a steadying hand and Aziraphale instinctively reached out and took it. He sat, with Crowley’s assistance, and the bus drove on. With Crowley’s hand now in his own, with that yawning gulf now bridged Aziraphale certainly wasn’t going to let go. And so he sat and he kept holding on tight. He kept holding on like his life depended on it, like he’d been wanting to reach out for, oh, several thousand years. Crowley’s hand was warm and welcoming and Aziraphale was gratified to find that he held on just as tightly.

It wasn’t until the bus pulled onto the main road stretching onto London that it occurred to Aziraphale that the lurching of the bus may have had something of the demonic intervention to it. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. In fact, when he considered the possibility, he found himself smiling.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Crowley asked.

‘Nothing,’ Aziraphale replied, his eyes darting to make contact with Crowley’s and then quickly darting away again, ‘It has just been quite a day.’

Crowley snorted at the understatement.

They sat together silently for awhile each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Aziraphale broke the comfortable silence.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale said, turning towards him as he spoke.

‘Hmm?’

Aziraphale’s forehead creased slightly, ‘I believe I owe you an apology.’

‘What for?’ Crowley answered incredulously.

‘For not coming to you straight away when I figured out where Adam was. For my misplaced loyalty. You were right: we are on our own side. I am sorry I didn’t always act like it.’

Crowley made an incomprehensible sound of acknowledgement. Then he sighed, ‘S’alright, Angel.’

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s reaction carefully, his own eyes welling with tears. He blinked them back and looked away. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand slightly, just enough for Aziraphale to know it had happened.

Crowley considered it settled. Aziraphale knew that. But he still couldn’t let it go. He turned back.

‘I really am very sorry, Crowley. I’ve behaved most abominably towards you.’

Crowley made another incomprehensible sound of acknowledgement.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, keeping tears at bay, ‘Do you forgive me then?’

Crowley looked directly at Aziraphale, flicking his sunglasses off so Aziraphale could see his unblinking golden eyes. After a beat he said tenderly, ‘that what you are wanting? Forgiveness?’

Aziraphale’s eyes darted around, ‘I suppose so,’ he replied nervously, ‘ _your_ forgiveness at any rate.’

Crowley stared unblinking, ‘S’nothing to forgive.’

‘But I treated you horribly,’ Aziraphale said his voice shaking slightly, ‘I didn’t trust you, when clearly you alone are the only person I can trust, the only one I’ve been able to rely upon for all these years.’

Crowley shrugged, still staring. When he spoke, he spoke softly, ‘you always did your best by me, angel. You did your best in a difficult situation. You think I don’t know how difficult it was for you? You don’t deserve to be punished for doing your best. No one does...’

Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip nervously, looking into Crowley’s golden eyes and seeing nothing but acceptance.

‘Don’t need an apology. But it would be nice, angel, if you could cut the bullshit.’

‘What?’ Aziraphale flinched in shock.

Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale’s reaction. ‘Jus’ mean in the future remember that we are on our own side and act like it.’

‘Well, I don’t think I’m likely to forget that now!’

Crowley considered this. ‘You might. As ridiculous as that is, you might. To ensure you don’t you need to stop lying, angel. To yourself and to me.’

‘I never…’

‘Shh…’ Crowley said putting their joined hands up to Aziraphale’s mouth. The intimacy of the touch instantly quieted Aziraphale.

‘You _do_ … ‘S alright if you want to keep up all those little cute lies. You can keep saying you don’t know the song ‘fat bottomed girls’ even though I’ve heard you humming it, you can keep saying that you ended up captured in the Bastille by accident and not as part of an elaborate plan to take me out for crepes in Paris, and we can both pretend you don’t have a selection of dirty books on the bottom shelf of the third bookshelf from the couch…’

Aziraphale blushed, ‘I do not have a selection of…of…’

Crowley raised his eyebrows, ‘I have _seen_ them, angel.’

‘They are _literature_ ,’ Aziraphale replied with irritation.

‘Banned literature. Literature banned for being erotic and encouraging sin.’

‘ _Literature_.’

‘Whatever. You can keep all of those little lies, and you can keep lying to everyone else. Lie to _them_ all you want about anything you want,’ Crowley barked out a laugh, ‘I’m completely fine with that. But you’ve got to stop repeating _their_ bullshit. Don’t get me wrong, you don’t have to agree with me. But you are _clever_ , Aziraphale, you’ve got to think things through and stick to your conclusions. Trust your own instincts. Work out what _you_ think. And definitely, absolutely, no more lying to yourself or to me about what really matters,’ he paused and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand tightly, his voice softening, ‘no more lying about _this_.’

Aziraphale looked down at their interlinked hands. He brushed his thumb up and down Crowley’s finger. Crowley made a little wordless noise.

Aziraphale smiled. His eyes welled with tears again and this time one finally escaped. It trickled down Aziraphale’s cheek. He looked back up to Crowley’s face, meeting his eyes, now gold all the way to the edges.

‘No more lying about us,’ Aziraphale said with an air of absolute certainty and solid resolution, ‘We are on our own side.’

The universe— still a little soft and malleable from the ministrations of Adam Young— shivered and the seed of something new came into being, tiny and in need of nurturance to grow, but brought into existence just the same. Crowley did not notice. He did not yet, and would not for many years, know that the basic metaphysics of the universe had shifted slightly that night. He just knew that Aziraphale had shifted. And that was more than enough for him.

Crowley grinned. If he didn’t manage to escape the forces of Hell, Crowley thought to himself, at least he had this: their own side, at last. He wondered idly what kind of future they could build for themselves if Aziraphale stayed true to his promise. But, of course, their very future was still in jeopardy. The world may have been saved but they were not.

On a bus driving to London although the driver did not know why, two immortal beings sipped from a cup that humanity had been drinking deeply from since the very Beginning: mortality. And, as all humans come to learn, each mouthful was bittersweet.

Aziraphale and Crowley had been living with the imminent destruction of, well, everything for some time now. But trying to prevent the end of the world—standing on a precipice of destruction and looking at the yawning empty eternity that they would have to mark out alone after everything ends— that is one kind of existential dread. Knowing that the world was safe, the world was secure, but that their own continued existence, quite suddenly, quite unexpectedly, was up for debate, that was an angsty concoction of an entirely different flavour. The world would spin on. But Aziraphale and Crowley’s part in it was no longer assured. They were traitors. The forces of Heaven and Hell would come for them, that was certain, and they would not be merciful.

With death so close they were, ironically, coursing with life, buzzing with an ephemeral vibrancy. With death so close, two questions were brought to the fore, the same two questions that humans have been confronting for 6000 years, voiced over and over in every language ever spoken, studied by philosophers, woven throughout poetry and religious texts and clutched at desperately by the dying. How can I win more time? And, when death comes for me, have I lived well? 

Silence descended as they both turned fundamental existential dilemmas over in their minds. Crowley stared out of the window of the bus watching the night spin pas. Stars—including some he had had a hand in creating— zooming past at such a speed that they blurred. Aziraphale sat primly by his side, eyes resting softly on nothing in particular.

Crowley recalled the ancient Egyptian belief that the god Anubis would weigh their heart at the point of death, determining their destiny. No such fate awaited Crowley. His heart had been weighed at the very Beginning —before the Beginning, in fact—and he had been found wanting, cast out into Hell. For Crowley, it was a kind of freedom. He knew that his own damnation was certain. He knew that there was no pleasing God and so Crowley had lived to please himself. He had followed the compass of his own heart and reaching in now and taking measure of the organ, feeling its weight for himself, he was satisfied.

Yet, facing his own destruction was not without bitterness. Crowley had always thought he’d have an eternity to mark. That, after all, was supposed to be part of the torture of Hell. But eternity was now an uncertain thing. As much as Crowley had feared the nauseating mundane torture of eternity— particularly an eternity without Aziraphale, without humanity—he found himself longing for more time.

Both lost in their own thoughts, they continued to hold hands, their physical connection to each other an anchor in the stormy sea of anxiety as they plunged its depths. Aziraphale’s sharp mind locked onto the prophesy as a lifeline, a potential means of survival. Agnes Nutter had been right so far, and she would be right about this too. They must _choose their faces wisely._ That was the solution, that was their road to more time, to more life. And like many humans confronting death, Aziraphale found that he did not want to close his own book. He did not want the story to end.

But what, exactly, did Agnes Nutter mean? Aziraphale could feel the answer just beyond his conscious grasp. It was simple. A disguise of some kind. But he couldn’t quite… Aziraphale sighed loudly and Crowley shifted next to him, turning from the window and his own thoughts to consider Aziraphale tenderly. Crowley immediately discerned the nature of Aziraphale’s thoughts.

‘I dunno either,’ Crowley said with deliberate softness, ‘but we do have a little time to figure it out. They’ve got legions of angels and demons to contend with.’

Aziraphale nodded, giving Crowley a little smile, ‘Quite right. That’ll keep them busy for a little while at least. They can be quite determined once they get all worked up, and that’s just the angels!’

Crowley smiled, his amusement tinged by the gravity of their predicament, ‘there’s always,’ he cleared his throat, ‘well, if we need to buy ourselves more time, if you need longer to figure it out, there’s always Alpha Centauri. I mean if you want.’

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale gasped, his eyes meeting Crowley’s though the dark haze of Crowley’s sunglasses, ‘Oh, yes. I didn’t think of that. Actually, that’s quite a good idea. Thank you.’

Crowley grinned with wild joy, quickly looking back out the window when he realised just how obvious he was being.

Aziraphale’s mind turned back to the prophesy and he tutted, ‘Choose your faces wisely. That’s the key. But what does it mean?’ His forehead creased as he tried desperately to figure it out, ‘Oh, it is so frustrating. I nearly have it. It is something simple, I can tell. But I can’t quite grasp it.’

Crowley looked back to Aziraphale, ‘you’ll get it, angel. I know you will. Cleverest person I know.’

Aziraphale pinked up, eyes darting away coyly to look out the window. With his eyes still on the rapidly disappearing scenery, he squeezed Crowley’s hand. Crowley squeezed right back, a little more firmly. Still looking away, Aziraphale rubbed his thumb along Crowley’s hand. Crowley reciprocated and a little shiver went up Aziraphale’s spine.

No more deception about this. Never again. Not with their end looming. If Aziraphale did not manage to figure out Agnes Nutter’s prophesies then he would, at least, not be destroyed with this regret staining his life. He had time enough to put this right. 

Within the depths of Aziraphale’s heart a deep and abiding longing for Crowley, a yearning for him stirred and with it, ancient God-given instincts—never explained, routinely suppressed—stirred too and reached out. Close, the instincts whispered, closer than close. And just like that, without even knowing he was doing it, the edges of Aziraphale’s hand softened, and at every point of physical contact boundaries blurred. At the focal point of their joined hands the being known as the Principality Aziraphale melted into, bled into, poured into the demon who chose to call himself Crowley. As waves of intimate pleasure pulsed out from his hand and over his form, Aziraphale’s attention was captured by a sound: a low moan from Crowley.

With a jolt and a sudden rise of shame, Aziraphale realised what he had done, without asking, without consent. He pulled his hand free from Crowley’s, raising both hands to quickly cover his blushing face with shame. Old memories returned, memories from when the universe was young. The Archangels spreading the love of God amongst the angels, the waves of forced ecstasy pushing away all independent thought, all sense of self, the feeling of melting into nothingness, a blissful nothingness but a nothingness all the same. Aziraphale remembered the shame and disorientation that had followed each occurrence, his relief in finding that his stationing on Earth provided a barrier and his further relief when the practice fell out of favour altogether. But this, this hasn’t felt like that. This had felt…it had been _good_.

Aziraphale had not melted away in the face of the ecstasy, he had not melted away into nothingness. Rather, they had touched, they had joined. Intimately, yes, but with Crowley, that degree of intimacy felt natural not forced. But was that Crowley’s experience too? Aziraphale’s stomach turned as he considered the possibility that it was not. Perhaps Aziraphale’s experience was different simply because, this time, he was the instigator. And of course, Crowley was a demon! What if what Aziraphale had just done was painful to demons?

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley gasped. He licked his lips and whispered, ‘did you…you did that, yeah?’

Aziraphale nodded, face still in hands. He answered in a tiny voice, ‘I-I’m so sorry, Crowley. I didn’t intend to, I was just thinking about us, about being on our own side, and well, the next thing I knew… that’s no excuse I know. It won’t happen again. I-I am so sorry. Did I hurt you? I- I hope I didn’t hurt you.’

Crowley sat perfectly still, taking in Aziraphale’s reaction with care. Crowley measured every word, counted every flick of his angel’s eyes and marked the blush staining his cheeks. Crowley measured it all and be reached his conclusions. In Aziraphale’s reaction he saw something that he had learned to be particularly skilled at recognising: an opportunity. At the last hour, on the verge of their own destruction, Aziraphale was offering up a fresh opportunity to Crowley and Crowley would damn himself in his own heart, by his own measure, if he did not seize that opportunity now with both hands. Eventually, Crowley licked his lips again and said softly, ‘S’fine. I wouldn’t mind, actually.’

‘What?’ Aziraphale said, turning to Crowley, forehead creased, eyes darting about Crowley’s face, trying desperately to understand.

‘I wouldn’t mind if you did it again,’ Crowley repeated deliberately. He shrugged, and looked away in an attempt at conveying nonchalance, adding in a small voice, ‘I mean, if you wanted to.’

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale said, eyes widening. So, he did have permission after all. Of course, he did. Crowley had hardly been the one to shy away from any expression of intimacy between them and, oh, Aziraphale’s mind whirled, angels and demons were from the same original stock, after all. It wasn’t the sharing of God’s love at all, was it? It was simply the natural expression of the closest intimacy. A passage from Paradise Lost tumbled into his mind and Aziraphale whispered it under his breath, ‘easier than air with air, if spirits embrace, total they mix…’

‘Somethin’ like that, jus’ maybe not on the bus, yeah?’ Crowley said with a little smirk and a blush dusting his cheeks.

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale gasped again, looking at the other passengers around them and blushing furiously, ‘Oh dear me, yes. That’s definitely for the best.’

‘My place then?’

Aziraphale nodded quickly, ‘it’s a da- well, yes, your place.’

Crowley smiled widely, ‘thought you’d never ask, angel.’

The cool night air buzzed with anticipation for the rest of the journey. The mood continued as they stepped off the bus in Mayfair and onto the pavement just outside Crowley’s flat, their footsteps ringing out with strange volume as they walked from the pavement, up the stairs and all the way to Crowley’s door.

‘After you,’ Crowley said as he unlocked his door with a click of his fingers and stood aside.

Aziraphale smiled coyly and muttered ‘thank-you,’ as he stepped through the front door into Crowley’s flat. It was as stark and spotless as he remembered, though he did notice new décor. Crowley liked to update regularly—needed to in order to keep the ultra-modern look, Aziraphale supposed—and Aziraphale hadn’t been over _that_ often. The Bookshop, somehow, always seemed the logical place for them to be together, more comfortable for them both. As a result, Aziraphale’s former visits to Crowley’s flat had been rather short and perfunctory. But he did know his way round at least.

‘So,’ Crowley said, shuffling from foot to foot just inside the front door, eyes glued to Aziraphale, ‘you remember what’s what in here, yeah? I do have some food if you want something. Or I could fetch a bottle of something drinkable. Or, I have a kettle. D’ya want a cuppa?’

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley was clearly nervous—quite adorably so in Aziraphale’s opinion—and, somehow, that gave Aziraphale the courage to do what he did next. Aziraphale shook his head and held out his hand, ‘I believe we agreed to wait until we were at your place. And here we are, at your place.’

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale’s outstretched hand and swallowed hard, ‘yeah, yeah we are,’ he slipped his sunglasses off and threw them casually onto a side table. Then he reached out and grasped Aziraphale’s hand, letting his thumb rub gently across the soft skin.

Aziraphale sighed and let the edges of himself, of his hand, blur and intermingle with the edges of Crowley. This time Crowley was an active participant, letting his own edges shift and intermix. And that made the act all the better, even more thrilling and intimate.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered as waves of delicious pleasure washed over him. They were touching in a deeper and more intimate way than any human could imagine. Crowley made a deep animalistic noise and they both pulled back spiritually, retreating into themselves but maintaining physical contact in a human way, still holding hands.

Crowley’s amber eyes shone, drunk with pleasure, ‘Angel…’ he sighed, thumb running over Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale smiled. It was clear that Crowley had enjoyed the experience and so Aziraphale put those doubts aside with all the other doubts that had held him back over the years. Misgivings cast aside, Aziraphale became aware of his own body’s reaction with a sudden start: his racing heart, his flushed face, his laboured breathing and his freshly manifested penis already rock-hard in his trousers. This wasn’t the first time that Aziraphale’s body had reacted to Crowley—though it usually wasn’t quite this dramatic in Crowley’s presence, thank Heaven’s— and Aziraphale had experimented with the workings of his physical form over the many years he had spent on Earth. And, oh, hadn’t that experimentation been exactly the way to assuage his longing for closeness with Crowley? Hadn’t that been the crux of the habit? And, no doubt, Aziraphale’s quick mind concluded, that was what his body had learned to expect. No doubt, that was exactly what his body wanted now. But did Crowley? Aziraphale’s eyes widened as his mind whirled with these fresh insights. He reflexively moved to pull back, to tug his hand out of Crowley’s grasp.

Crowley, his own body responding with just as much enthusiasm, took in Aziraphale’s state—the physical and the emotional— in an instant and he moved quickly, ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he growled, tugging back on Aziraphale’s hand, pulling him forward as Crowley leaned forward himself, pressing his lips to Aziraphale’s own. Aziraphale groaned and melted into Crowley, in an entirely human and physical way this time, his arms wrapping around him and his tongue finding warm entrance in the sweetness of Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale hungrily, hands fisting in Aziraphale’s jacket. Aziraphale’s knees weakened at the embrace and Crowley easily walked him back against the wall, rolling his own hips in for maximum contact. Crowley’s erection pressed hard against Aziraphale’s own. Oh, Aziraphale thought, oh, but of course. Of course.

‘Oh, angel,’ Crowley gasped between kisses as he thrust forward. Aziraphale moaned loudly into Crowley’s mouth as he was flooded with the most delicious sensations. He didn’t have the opportunity to adapt because Crowley once again blurred at his edges, and Aziraphale found himself instinctively responding in turn, so that they melted into each other at each and every point of physical contact. And there were so many points of contact.

Aziraphale and Crowley dissolved into each other, body and soul, physical forms mixing, spiritual forms mixing completely and utterly. And as they dissolved into one boundaries and divisions became meaningless. Each experienced the inner world of the other as if it was their own—thoughts, feelings, sensations— they all leaked and bled each into the other until neither could tell what belonged to whom. Such questions were, in that moment, beyond comprehension.

What was clear, what was comprehensible was _love_. Blinding, shining, all-encompassing love. Adoration without boundary, regard beyond measure. It was awesome, it was wondrous, it was everything, and it rolled them both with waves of pleasure, until in a moment that was simultaneously forever ecstasy crested and peaked in a blaze of glory and then gradually receded. They were left, once again, Aziraphale and Crowley, separate and distinct even as they were pleasure-drunk and disoriented, like two shells left on the shore by the wild retreating ocean.

Aziraphale became aware of his own breathing—still coming hard and fast—and then of Crowley’s golden eyes—wide with wonder and heavy with tears—his face still close though he seemed to have stepped back a fraction. Close but no longer touching. Aziraphale yearned to close the distance again. But he resisted. After what they’d just experienced together, they needed a moment.

Crowley licked his lips. Tears slipped out, sliding down his face and leaving wet tracks. ‘I love you,’ he choked out as he cried, ‘I love you so much.’

Aziraphale lifted his hand and brushed Crowley’s tears away with all the tenderness in his being, ‘I love you too, Crowley,’ he whispered, voice rippling with thousands of years of repressed feelings, ‘I adore you, in fact.’

Crowley made a little choking noise and leaned forward, pressing a kiss on Aziraphale’s mouth, hands reaching up and brushing their way through Aziraphale’s soft white curls. He sighed and whispered hoarsely, ‘I know you do.’

Neither of them could doubt it. Neither of them could doubt it ever again. Not anymore, not after feeling it all directly for themselves. But it was still liberating to— at last, at long last— hear the words spoken aloud. And it was liberating to speak the words out loud, to give voice to something that had been, for so long, on the tip of their tongues. To say something that had been ruthlessly bitten back more times than either of them could count.

‘Dunno why I ever doubted it,’ Crowley said with a sigh, eyes roving over Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale smiled brightly, ‘I don’t know why I ever doubted it either.’

‘Why you doubted that you loved me?’ Crowley clarified with a little crooked grin. Of course, Aziraphale would have spent years denying it.

‘No!’ Aziraphale said mouth falling open in horror, ‘No, my dear! Once I recognised my regard for you, and that was some time ago now I assure you, I never doubted it. I mean I don’t know why I doubted that _you_ loved _me_.’

‘What?’ Crowley barked out a laugh.

‘Oh, I knew that you enjoyed my company, that I relieved your boredom. But for the longest time it seemed quite unbelievable that you could ever…’ Aziraphale swallowed hard as Crowley stared at him, amber eyes soft. ‘I mean I’m not exactly…’ Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip, ‘and, well, you’re- you’re a demon…’

Crowley stared, struck silent for several moments by this revelation. Eventually, he shook his head, ‘Aziraphale, you’re an idiot.’

Aziraphale chuckled. ‘There was a time when I had myself quite convinced that loving you— a demon— with no hope of love’s return was an ultimate act of martyrdom,’ he explained, ‘I comforted myself by feeling quite smug about it.’

Crowley snorted, ‘I bet you did.’

Aziraphale shrugged, ‘I don’t know. It all made some kind of sense at the time.’

‘Cause you’re an idiot,’ Crowley said fondly, planting another soft kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. As he kissed Aziraphale again their bodies touched, and Crowley became aware of a certain dampness between them. Crowley stepped back a fraction and looked down, relieved to find that the damp wasn’t just him. ‘Ah,’ he coughed, face flushed, ‘it seems we’ve made a bit of a mess.’

Aziraphale looked down, forehead knotted, eyes flicking to his own ejaculate stained trousers, then to Crowley’s—thank Heav-,well, thank someone, Crowley’s were stained too— and finally up to the ceiling as his cheeks blushed pink, ‘Oh, Good Lord.’

Crowley chuckled, ‘S’alright, angel.’

‘I know it’s alright,’ Aziraphale replied curtly, clicking his fingers and disappearing the mess from them both.

Crowley chuckled some more, ‘Course you do. All those dirty books, sorry I mean, dirty _literature_ … I’ve long suspected that you…’ but Crowley stopped before he could finish his teasing, eyes widening, as he suddenly recalled an important piece of information, ‘oh, fuck! Ligur!’

‘What?’ Aziraphale replied with a frown, utterly disorientated by the sharp change in conversation.

‘Shit,’ Crowley said spinning round, ‘he’ll still be here. Well, he’ll be a puddle of goo but…’ his voice trailed off as he walked towards the door to his office. Aziraphale followed, frowning as Crowley pointed to what, indeed, was a puddle of goo near the doorway.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said sharply, eyes narrowing as he looked down at the puddle on the floor, ‘I don’t understand.’

Crowley sighed and started to pace, hand running through his hair, messing it up, ‘They came for me, right? Hastur and Ligur. I used the holy water that you’d…’ Crowley swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Aziraphale, ‘that you’d…’

Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze, staring back with widening eyes as it all became clear. His stomach plummeted to the floor as he remembered that he had initially denied Crowley’s request for holy water. How could he have been so foolish? Of course, he had only wanted to save Crowley from himself. He’d only wanted to keep him alive. But they didn’t stop the deep pang of guilt that he felt now. Aziraphale looked back to the puddle that was all that remained of Ligur and, for a moment, he was catapulted into old nightmares. It would have been so like this.

Aziraphale saw himself making his way to Mayfair alone after a lengthy period of silence from Crowley, after a series of desperate and unanswered phone calls. He pictured himself using a miracle to open the door to Crowley’s flat after his knocking and calling out bore no fruit. He’d have walked in, stood about where he was currently standing and he’d have found a puddle on the floor just like the one he could see now and it would have been, it would have been…. Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbled, 'I-I didn’t want…I-I just didn’t want to, to…’

‘I know, angel,’ Crowley said softly, ‘I know.’ 

Aziraphale shook his head as another horrifying scene filled it. What if he had never relented? What if, out of a misplaced desire to protect Crowley, he had left Crowley defenceless against all the horror of Hell? He could be standing here, now, all alone in the world. Tears welled in his eyes, ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, voice wavering, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Crowley sighed. He shook his head firmly, ‘No. None of that. You saved my life, angel.’

Aziraphale nodded quickly. He took a deep breath and blew it out, ‘right. Right,’ he consciously dragged his focus back to the here and now. ‘And that’s Hastur and Ligur, is it?’ he said with a gesture.

Crowley shook his head. ‘Nah. Just Ligur,’ he drawled, ‘tricked Hastur into the answering machine.’

Aziraphale licked his lips, eyes darting towards the interior of the office and roving along Crowley’s desk, ‘the answering machine?’ he said with a smile, amused at Crowley’s antics despite himself, ‘he still there, then?’

Crowley shook his head, ‘Back in Hell I expect.’ 

‘Ah,’ Aziraphale nodded decisively, rolling his shoulders back, ‘I see. Well, then. I had better clean Ligur up.’

‘S’alright, angel,’ Crowley replied with a quick shake of his head, ‘S my mess, I’ll take care of it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Aziraphale said forcefully, his old nightmares still lingering in the quaver of his voice, ‘Holy water! There will be traces of it. Need I reminded you that holy water will destroy _you_ , but it is quite harmless to _me_! Naturally, I should be the one to…the one to…’ Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his mouth formed a perfect O, ‘Oh! Oh, Crowley!’ he cried out excitedly, ‘I have it!’

‘Have what?’ Crowley said, looking up from frowning over the Ligur puddle to meet Aziraphale’s eye.

‘They’re going to try to _destroy_ us!’ Aziraphale continued in a rush, ‘Destroy, Crowley! And how do you destroy an angel? With hellfire. How do you destroy a demon? With holy water. But they can’t destroy me with holy water or you with hellfire! And if we can do what we did just now then I see no reason why we can’t do this. We need to wear _each other's_ faces!’

‘Oh…’ Crowley grinned wickedly and his amber eyes gleamed, ‘Oh, Aziraphale!’ he nodded, still smiling wildly, ‘yeah, that’ll do it. Brilliant, angel. Absolutely fucking brilliant.’ 

Aziraphale beamed, his whole face lighting up with joy. He’d found it. He’d found the way to their salvation, a way to evade the forces of Heaven and Hell. His book would not close. Not yet. He would live to see another day and he would do so with Crowley.

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s smiling mouth with his own, giving him a passionate and grateful kiss. A short discussion later, Crowley finally relented to Aziraphale’s logic about who should clean up Ligur, supplying the cleaning equipment and leaving Aziraphale to it. Aziraphale cleaned the Ligur puddle up very thoroughly indeed, removing every last drop of holy water with all the care in his being and a few miracles. As he cleaned, he tried very hard not to think about the possibility that he may have been cleaning up Crowley himself in exactly the same way. While Aziraphale was cleaning Crowley took a quick shower, miracled himself up some new clothes and put together a platter of food— grapes, strawberries, dates, caramelised nuts, and a selection of cheeses, dips and pâtés— all things he routinely kept miracled fresh in his fridge for occasions such as this. He also opened a fresh bottle of wine, something red and drinkable.

‘Oh,’ Aziraphale sighed, as he entered the kitchen and caught sight of the platter, ‘good idea. I admit I am feeling a little peckish.’ 

Crowley snorted. ‘Ligur disposed of?’

Aziraphale nodded, ‘All gone. And more importantly, there isn’t a trace of holy water left.’

Crowley nodded as he opened the brie and fetched a cheese knife. Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip and looked around the stark and modern flat. He couldn’t see anywhere that looked particularly comfortable. Finally, he grinned as a perfect idea took shape, ‘What do you say to a picnic in the conservatory, dear boy?’

Crowley smiled broadly, ‘Perfect, angel.’

Crowley picked up the platter and led the way, miracling up a black picnic rug on the floor as they entered the room.

Aziraphale followed, carrying the wine bottle and two glasses. He smiled, satisfied at his choice. Yes, this was much more comfortable than that tacky white lounge would have been. Awful modern looking thing. Wouldn’t have been comfortable at all and, besides, Crowley’s plants were simply breathtaking. They were the lushest greenery that Aziraphale had ever seen in an indoor garden. In fact, Crowley put most outdoor gardens to shame. Aziraphale took in the verdant plant life around him. A picnic in Crowley’s garden. Aziraphale placed the wine and glasses down and sighed contentedly. He couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Then he noticed the colour of the rug and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. He shook his head tightly, snapped his fingers and changed the blanket from black to tartan, to his own tartan, in fact.

Crowley groaned, ‘Angel!’

‘You can’t have a black picnic rug, dear boy,’ Aziraphale admonished as he sat down, ‘Sets entirely the wrong tone.’

Crowley snorted in amusement and sprawled out on the tartan rug contentedly, despite the pattern. In fact, he rather liked the idea of lazing about on Aziraphale’s tartan. Not that he’d ever admit it. Crowley poured two glasses of wine as Aziraphale made a start on the platter. After a few sips of wine, Crowley joined him, nibbling on some grapes, dates and brie. He then settled in to enjoy watching Aziraphale eat, sipping his wine as he watched bliss float across his angel’s face with every mouthful.

‘Just what I needed, dear, thank-you,’ Aziraphale said with a smile as he finished his meal, picking up a serviette to pat carefully against his face. Crowley stared openly.

‘So,’ Aziraphale said, taking a sip of his wine, ‘when should we swap bodies?’

‘Not yet,’ Crowley said immediately, shaking his head, ‘Morning. We deserve a bit of a rest. Recuperate ‘ya know.’

‘True,’ Aziraphale said with a thoughtful nod, ‘we are safe for now. They’ll still be occupied,’ he frowned, pondering what a rest would mean to Crowley, ‘do you need a sleep, dear boy? You mustn’t let my presence stop you.’

Crowley shook his head, his amber eyes still fixed on Aziraphale, ‘No. I mean yes, I will sleep tonight if you don’t mind, but after.’

‘After?’ Aziraphale repeated with a little coy smile, ‘after what then?’

A warm blush spread across Crowley’s cheeks, but his eyes stayed focussed on Aziraphale. He snorted, ‘Y’know later.’

‘I see,’ Aziraphale said with a little nod. He took another sip of wine, swirling it around in his glass as he spoke, ‘and what exactly are you proposing we do next then?’

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and dragged his gaze down and then back up Crowley’s lean frame.

Crowley leaned forward; his face tantalisingly close to Aziraphale’s own. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s hot breath tickling against his skin as Crowley gently ran a hand through Aziraphale’s soft white curls and smiled. Aziraphale’s gaze dipped to Crowley’s lips and he swallowed hard in anticipation. Crowley grinned. That was the tell he’d been waiting for.

Crowley leaned forward a bit more and closed the distance, his lips pressing softly and chastely against Aziraphale’s own. He held the kiss just like that, teasingly soft, letting Aziraphale be the one to deepen it. Before too long Aziraphale did exactly that, mouth opening and tongue dipping into the warmth of Crowley’s mouth with a little whimper. Crowley moaned a low moan and gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders hard, pulling him closer. They kissed with furious and hungry passion, tongues tasting enthusiastically, drawing out and devouring moan after moan. Crowley’s tongue had always been able to do things an ordinary human tongue could not— a consequence of his serpentine nature— and he put his abilities to good use, every little noise from Aziraphale spurring him on.

They could kiss all night Crowley thought to himself. He could mark out eternity with kisses, and yet, and yet…he could not. Because with every kiss his hunger grew, until he was incandescent with desire. He needed more.

‘Hm…angel…’ Crowley whispered hoarsely between kisses, taking little panting breaths. His hands slid down Aziraphale’s body to grip tightly onto onto his hips, pressing into the soft flesh to feel the bone beneath.

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale moaned into Crowley’s mouth, ‘oh, my dear Crowley.’

‘Your Crowley?’ Crowley whispered, pulling off the kiss in order to speak. He looked at Aziraphale: lips pink from a thorough kissing, face flushed and warm, eyes bright with need. Crowley smiled fondly, ‘actually, I quite like that sound of that.’

Aziraphale chuckled, lifting a hand to run it gently through Crowley’s crimson locks, ‘good because so do I.’

Crowley made a little desperate noise at the feeling of Aziraphale’s fingers against his scalp.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Crowley began hoarsely. He licked his lips and started again, ‘I don’t suppose I could tempt you into…’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale interrupted with certainty, hands still carding through Crowley’s hair.

‘I haven’t finished!’ Crowley replied with mock outrage.

‘You don’t have to,’ Aziraphale said with a little shake of his head and a soft smile, ‘not tonight. My answer is yes.’

Crowley snorted. Then he smiled. He licked his lips again, not quite sure what to do next, not quite sure how to handle blanket permission. They had been dancing a very particular dance of their own for thousands of years. Crowley knew every step by heart, every cue, every flick or flourish. But this was different. The dance was changing. ‘Right,’ Crowley drawled, ‘Right. Well. Yeah. Yes. Well. Right.’

Aziraphale stood. He was not waiting for Crowley to lead. He took the next step himself. Aziraphale brushed off his trousers and said, ‘I believe I know the way,’ with a little coy smile as he walked towards Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley watched him go in silent open-mouthed appreciation for several moments before he realised that he should be following. ‘Oh, fuck, yeah…’ he said scrabbling up and running after.

Aziraphale chuckled without looking back. Crowley followed Aziraphale towards the bedroom, stopping at his bedroom’s glass doorway to lean against the frame and watch. Aziraphale walked in confidently and perched himself on the edge of Crowley’s bed. Aziraphale sat with all his usual prim care—legs held close together, back straight, hands clasping in his lap—and somehow, for Crowley, that made the sight even more titillating. After all, sitting primly was exactly what Aziraphale did. Crowley licked his lips, ‘you’re sitting on my bed, angel.’

Aziraphale looked around as if surprised as he cried out, ‘Oh my!’ He grinned, eyes twinkling, as he enunciated carefully with a little excited wiggle and raised eyebrows, ‘So I am.’

Crowley shuddered. Shit. If he wasn’t careful just the sight of Aziraphale on his bed, just knowing that he now had permission, that his attentions were welcomed, would be enough to undo him. He shook his head, ‘Angel, do you have any idea how long I’ve- I’ve…’ Crowley swallowed hard.

Aziraphale smiled. He knew. Of course, he did. When they’d intermingled Aziraphale had felt it all, felt Crowley’s feelings as his own. And it had all been so very familiar, a mirror to Aziraphale’s own passion, ‘Yes, I do. Me, too, my dear, as you know, as you’ve now felt for yourself.’ Crowley did know. He’d felt Aziraphale’s love, Aziraphale’s desire as his own after all. He could barely believe it. But he knew.

Aziraphale beckoned towards Crowley, ‘Come in, dear boy. Don’t wait at the door forever.’

Crowley walked inside gingerly, stepping all the way to Aziraphale, standing in front of him. He paused, looking down at his angel waiting for him. Angel. Against the backdrop of Crowley’s black bedspread, Aziraphale glowed brightly, like a star in the night sky, a star leading Crowley to his salvation, a star leading Crowley home.

Crowley shook his head, and—heart beating a terrible rhythm in his chest— he bent down low to plant the tenderest of kisses on Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale leaned up to catch the kiss eagerly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s lithe frame. Without pulling away, not for a moment, Crowley bent further until he knelt in front of Aziraphale. Aziraphale parted his knees and Crowley pressed in, deepening the kiss at the same time. Aziraphale moaned and held onto Crowley, his hands working their way up and down his back with soft, feathering strokes that made Crowley shiver with pleasure. It was glorious.

Eventually, Crowley broke the kiss in order to taste elsewhere. He needed more. Crowley dipped his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, and kissed the soft skin hungrily, gratified when Aziraphale responded to this attention with a little whimpering noise. Crowley took his time, exploring the tender flesh with his tongue and lips, taking whole mouthfuls in and sucking, then licking gently, sweetly at the little strawberry patches that blossomed against the milky white. Aziraphale whimpered and clutched onto Crowley, holding on like a drowning man clutching at his rescuer, even as Crowley threatened to drag him further under, deep down into the sea of pleasure.

Neck thoroughly explored—and covered in the most beautiful pink marks— Crowley worked his way up to Aziraphale’s perfect ear. He curled his tongue around the lobe with unnatural skill, dragging a long, deep moan from Aziraphale’s lips. As Crowley continued to explore Aziraphale’s ear, Aziraphale’s fingers dug into Crowley’s shoulders with delicious force, dragging a soft moan from Crowley’s own mouth. The moan vibrated against Aziraphale’s skin, just behind the ear.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale gasped, breathless, as Crowley’s tongue curled around Aziraphale’s lobe again. Aziraphale’s fingers pressed into Crowley hard, pushing deep to the bone, ‘Crowley!’

Crowley grinned to himself, delighted, thrilled. Crowley had long enjoyed colourful fantasies about the kinds of noises he would drag out of Aziraphale if only Aziraphale would let him. The exquisite sounds that a good meal tended to prompt Aziraphale to make had always provided ample fodder for Crowley’s prodigious imagination. What a joy it was for Crowley to discover that fantasies could come true.

Crowley sucked on Aziraphale’s ear one last time. Then he kissed his way back to Aziraphale’s neck, kissing each piece of milky white skin softly and hungrily until he reached Aziraphale’s bow tie. Crowley hated Aziraphale’s tartan bow tie. But he also secretly loved it. His hands shook a little as he undid the ridiculous thing, undoing the first button of Aziraphale’s shirt too, revealing flesh that had been hidden for far too long. Crowley swallowed hard at the sight and planted the gentlest of kisses there, as if he were welcoming an old friend home.

Aziraphale’s fingers once again cut deeply into Crowley’s shoulders, and Crowley groaned, his breath tickling over Aziraphale’s newly revealed skin.

‘Crow…’ Aziraphale panted, his voice shaking with need, ‘Crowley…please…’

Crowley looked up. Aziraphale’s eyes widened pleadingly with a look that Crowley had long found hard to resist. This dance he knew well. Could do it in his sleep. Crowley hummed a reply and, saying nothing—what was there to say? He knew exactly what Aziraphale wanted and of course, of course, he would give it to him—he carefully slipped off Aziraphale’s coat. Aziraphale stared at Crowley as he did so, his gaze glassy.

Crowley clicked his fingers, miracling up a chair at the foot of the bed. He placed the coat carefully over the back of the chair, smoothing it out so it would hang properly. Aziraphale watched every movement, his breath catching a little at the care within the gesture, the love. Crowley returned to Aziraphale’s shirt, undoing each button from top to bottom. As each button was undone Crowley would find more flesh to tongue and kiss, giving each newly revealed inch his thorough attention before moving on to the next button. Gradually, he moved from the chest to the soft belly beneath, Aziraphale’s little gasps and moans spurring him on.

When the final button was undone, Crowley gently tugged Aziraphale’s shirt out of his trousers and slipped it off each arm. He folded the shirt and placed it on top of the chair. Then he leaned down and took Aziraphale’s pink nipple into his mouth, tongue circling around it, and squeezing ever so gently, coaxing it into hardening. Aziraphale keened and Crowley smiled, satisfied by this reaction. He kissed his way to the other pink nipple to taste that one too, his clever tongue wrapping around it, much to Aziraphale’s delight.

Breathing heavily, Crowley raised his head, pulling back just enough to take in Aziraphale’s state. Crowley’s eyes slid down Aziraphale’s form from his closed eyes to his desperately kissed lips, to the strawberry markings on his neck, to the soft milky-white flesh of his belly. Perfect. So perfect. So very tempting. The perfect temptation for Crowley. How ironic. Crowley’s gaze dropped lower to the evidence of Aziraphale’s arousal tented his trousers.

‘Beautiful,’ Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and he blushed, eyes darting away shyly.

Crowley smiled. He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale hard and deep on the mouth, his serpentine tongue slipping artfully between Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale’s arms curled around him, answering Crowley’s hunger with a hunger of his own. Eventually, Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss, panting deeply, and it was Crowley’s turn to whimper.

Aziraphale smiled down at Crowley, fingers slipping through Crowley’s hair, messing it up, a little glint in his eye. Crowley frowned, recognising the look, knowing that Aziraphale had an idea. Crowley didn’t get the chance to ask, however, because in the next moment he found himself being scooped up—Aziraphale’s hands slipping under his arse to heft him up— and thrown onto the bed.

‘argh,’ Crowley cried out in shock as he landed, ‘angel!’

Aziraphale chuckled softly from his new position, leaning over Crowley who was now lying on the bed. Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley, turning Crowley’s grumbling into groans of pleasure. Satisfied with the volume of Crowley’s moans, he kissed a tender little line from Crowley’s mouth, down his chin to his neck where he sucked hard on the flesh, creating little red marks of his own.

Crowley gasped, his gangly limbs waving about, until his hands grasped onto the bedding beneath, fisting the black material as he moaned, ‘angel!’

Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley’s marked neck softly as he whispered, hot breath tickling against Crowley’s skin, ‘perfect. I love you so much, my dear.’

‘Nagh,’ Crowley groaned again, fisting the bedding all the harder as Aziraphale’s breath created delicious shivers up and down his spine.

As Aziraphale continued to kiss Crowley’s neck his hand wandered downwards freely, exploring Crowley’s still fully dressed form, running over his chest, his flat stomach, and finally cupping the hard length of him in his tight trousers. Crowley keened and pushed himself forward, ‘fuck, fuck, oh fuck…’

Aziraphale smiled. Then he faltered as the form under his hand unexpectedly changed from hard and long to soft, warm and wet, and back again. Crowley moaned loudly and his form rapidly shifted back and forth several more times.

‘Oh my!’ Aziraphale exclaimed, pausing in his kissing to look downwards where his hand was still gently cupping what was, for the moment, Crowley’s vulva.

‘Sssorry,’ Crowley said hoarsely, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks, ‘didn’t mean to…ngh… jussst got a bit… ngh…doesn’t happen to you, I take it?’

‘I can’t say that it does,’ Aziraphale said biting his lower lip. He coughed delicately, ‘is it a regular occurrence?’

‘Um… jussst sssometimes when I get a bit, well…’ Crowley licked his lips, ‘over-excited...’

‘Are you over-excited, dear?’ Aziraphale said, eyebrows raised, mouth curved into a delighted smile. He gave Crowley little squeeze.

‘Oh, fuck…’ Crowley moaned, a hard length appearing between his legs as he bucked up.

‘Can’t decide what you want, can you?’ Aziraphale said, his voice warm with fond amusement.

‘Shuddup!’ Crowley growled. Aziraphale chuckled.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hand away, closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath, ‘Jusst give me a moment,’ he took a few more deep breaths as he concentrated on taking one form. He licked his lips, ‘Should be fine now,’ he said, eyes fluttering open, ‘I mean unless you’d prefer the other?’

Aziraphale shook his head, ‘Oh, I think this’ll do just nicely,’ he whispered, hand coming back down and giving Crowley’s erection a little squeeze. Crowley moaned as he bucked up eagerly. Aziraphale squeezed again, and Crowley bucked up again too, pushing himself hard into Aziraphale’s hand. This time he also captured Aziraphale’s mouth with his own. As they kissed, he tugged at Aziraphale’s shoulders, guiding him to lie down. Aziraphale sighed into the kiss and slid down on the bed, lying beside Crowley who had turned to face him. Still kissing desperately all the while, Crowley flung his leg over Aziraphale’s and thrust hard into his ample thigh. The warmth of Aziraphale’s body felt incredible, an energy so specifically and uniquely him. Aziraphale’s own erection nudged against Crowley.

‘Nagh,’ Crowley groaned, between hungry kisses, ‘too many clothes,’ he panted, as his hands skirted over Aziraphale’s arse, still covered by trousers, ‘far too many clothes.’

‘I quite agree,’ Aziraphale replied thickly, clicking his fingers. All their clothing disappeared from their bodies and reappeared neatly folded on the chair at the foot of the bed.

Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise and he chuckled, ‘I didn’t mean just disappear them all, angel.’

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale gasped, chewing his bottom lip, eyes darting to the folded clothing and back to meet Crowley’s gaze, ‘sorry,’ he whispered sheepishly.

Crowley shook his head, still chuckling warmly, ‘Now who’s a bit over-excited…’

Aziraphale smiled coyly and cleared his throat, ‘I may have gotten a little carried away. Shall I bring them back?’

‘Nah, S’perfect,’ Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale softly while he pushed his leg against Aziraphale’s hard length. Aziraphale gasped and shuddered. Crowley pushed his leg against Aziraphale’s erection again. Aziraphale moaned—a long drawn out sound—and bucked into him. As Crowley continued Aziraphale bucked again, making the most beautiful little noises of pleasure, ‘Oh, Crowley,’ he gasped, ‘that’s good,’ he swallowed hard, ‘that’s very good.’ Suddenly, Aziraphale stopped bucking and shuddered, ‘I want to see you,’ he said hoarsely. A moment later Aziraphale had pushed Crowley back onto his back. Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale sat up next to Crowley and he licked his lips. He took his time, his gaze moving slowly down Crowley’s naked body, taking in the long, lithe form. The freckles on Crowley’s shoulders from time spent in warmer climates, though soft and faded now, stood out on his pale skin against the black backdrop of his bed. Aziraphale traced his finger around a little constellation on Crowley’s right shoulder and Crowley shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut. Aziraphale’s gaze continued downward, taking in the flat stomach and long, skinny legs. Aziraphale paused to appreciate the erection—as long and lean as the rest of Crowley—jutting out from a bed of hair as vibrant as that on his head.

Crowley's eyes opened, and he swallowed hard under Aziraphale’s gaze. He chewed on his bottom lip, ‘S’alright, angel?’ he asked, trying his best to seem confident, and failing utterly, his voice shaking with nerves.

‘Oh yes,’ Aziraphale replied with certainty. He sighed, ‘you are quite stunning, my dear. But then you always are, in all your forms.’

Tears welled in Crowley’s eyes, ‘Angel, please, you… _you_ are perfection…’ He reached out and took Aziraphale’s erection in hand—thick and pink with need—and tugged gently. Aziraphale shuddered. ‘Look at you, angel,’ Crowley drawled, his other hand trailing over Aziraphale’s ample form, ‘Just look at you. S’fucking perfect.’

By way of reply, Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s erection and began to stroke it gingerly. Crowley moaned and bucked into Aziraphale’s hand, as he continued to tug at Aziraphale’s own cock. Crowley looked down, taking in the visual of Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around his prick. How many times had he thought of this? How many times had he imagined? He could feel a warm pleasure pooling down low already. Too soon. Far too soon. Before he could get lost in the sensations, before he was swept away beyond all control, Crowley pulled Aziraphale back down on the bed beside him again, ‘c’m here, angel.’

Crowley guided them into the perfect position, their erections lining up. He wrapped his hand around both at once. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, immediately understanding Crowley’s plan. He added his hand to Crowley’s. Crowley stroked ever so slowly, ever so gently and Aziraphale moaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut.

‘Oh fuck…’ Crowley groaned, ‘oh, angel, that’s…ngh…’

They continued stroking together, Aziraphale allowing Crowley to lead the action, but keeping his hand wrapped around their erections too, adding to the pleasure. Crowley stroked painfully slowly, teasingly. Just when Aziraphale thought he could stand it no more, Crowley began to speed up, gradually taking his strokes to a faster pace. Aziraphale found himself thrusting desperately into their fists, panting hard. Crowley too, bucked and gasped as they found a matching rhythm, as they, together, found that sweet spot.

Afterwards, years later, when recalling this evening—telling the story of it to each other, curled up together in their cottage in South Downs— they themselves wouldn’t be able to remember who had softened their boundaries first, who had taken their intimate physical contact into the spiritual realm, into the ethereal. But what was certain was that one of them did and whoever was first, certainly, the other reciprocated instantly.

The line dividing Aziraphale and Crowley dissolved as angel and demon intermingled. Bliss escalated bliss in being shared, until they were both tumbling in ecstasy and spurting their seed again and again onto their own bodies and the black bedding. Their seed mixed and intermingled on their hot flesh even as their souls intermingled and their ecstasy climaxed and bled into one.

Eventually, after some time, the ecstasy receded, and they found themselves once more two separate beings clinging wetly to each other.

‘Oh, Crowley,’ Aziraphale panted, ‘that was…that was…’ He swallowed hard, shuddered, and tried again, ‘that was…’

‘Fucking incredible,’ Crowley finished.

Aziraphale chuckled warmly, ‘quite.’

Crowley kissed Aziraphale deeply and clicked his fingers, disappearing the mess. He clicked his fingers again and instantly rearranging the bedding so that they were now tucked under the black sheets.

Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley again, softly and slowly. Crowley sighed as the kiss ended and he cuddled in, head resting on Aziraphale’s chest. As Aziraphale’s fingertips drew delicious patterns over Crowley’s scalp, Crowley thought, a little sleepily, that if he could, he would take this perfect moment and stretch it to infinity and back. Now that would be an eternity worth creating. He smiled. Alas, such feats were beyond him. But at least this moment had happened. At long last, it had happened. And, of course, if they survived then they’d have all the perfect moments that would come next. Crowley didn’t delude himself. Not every moment would be literally perfect. But Crowley knew that there were some things could not be undone. They’d changed. Aziraphale had shifted. They had shifted. And there would be no shifting back. Crowley sighed happily at this thought and yawned. Now that his desires were satiated the exhaustion of the day was weighing heavily in his body, dragging him towards slumber.

‘You should sleep, dear boy,’ Aziraphale said fondly as Crowley yawned again, his breath tickling across Aziraphale’s chest.

‘Hm,’ Crowley replied, his voice already thick with approaching sleep, his eyes heavy and blinking. Crowley sunk his head into Aziraphale’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent. It smelt like home. Always had. Not like Heaven. Like home. Like where Crowley was meant to be.

Aziraphale continued to run his hands through Crowley’s hair affectionately and Crowley allowed the gesture to lull him to sleep. Crowley’s breathing became became steadier and longer as he settled into a deep and contented slumber in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale looked down at the sleeping demon—the Serpent— and he recalled their very first meeting. He remembered the sight of Crowley slithering up the Eastern wall of Eden. The sight had been an alarming one. But Aziraphale had to admit that even then, he had found Crowley breathtakingly beautiful. So much had happened since. So much had happened just recently.

Tears welled in Aziraphale’s eyes as the monumental nature of it all struck him afresh. The force of the rupture, the terrible and raw loss of it, tore through Aziraphale anew, and he shuddered. The ground he’d stood on all his life had fallen away. And yet, with that loss came freedom. Unexpectedly and quite by accident, Aziraphale had escaped. The rules he’d followed all his life had unravelled and the lies he’d told himself in order to survive had blown away like autumn leaves in the wind. And he’d done it himself. It was dizzying, almost too much in its wide-open spaciousness, like falling into the sky. Thankfully, Aziraphale had Crowley to anchor him.

Crowley. Aziraphale looked down at him and smiled. Aziraphale recalled the conversation that they’d had while waiting for the bus. He remembered the question that Crowley had posed. Always so good at questions, Crowley. Aziraphale continued to watch Crowley’s sleeping form and, as if aware of Aziraphale’s gaze, Crowley shifted slightly in his sleep, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s chest. Dear Crowley, Aziraphale thought with a smile, he had offered his question up like a gift, without even being asked, like he’d known that it was just the question that Aziraphale was going to need.

And he was right. Of course, he was. And so, as Crowley cuddled up to him in his sleep, as stars shone brightly in the dark sky outside, and the whole newly saved world was quiet and still, Aziraphale unwrapped the gift: did the Almighty plan it like this all along? Aziraphale smiled as he considered the question, turning it over and over in his mind. Maybe, just maybe. And, if so, perhaps Aziraphale despite all his weaknesses, despite all his failings was exactly the angel that God intended him to be. Perhaps, even cast out from Heaven, Aziraphale could remain an Angel of the Lord.

Aziraphale twisted a little piece of Crowley’s crimson hair around his finger. Crowley hadn’t needed God in a very long time. He didn’t need rules. He didn’t need to have faith in any kind of plan. He had his own plans. Crowley pulled himself up by his own bootstraps. Aziraphale smiled fondly. And yet, Crowley had immediately offered Aziraphale a way of keeping her. Selfless. Utterly selfless. Aziraphale chuckled wetly, softly so as not to wake Crowley, as he pictured the expression Crowley would pull if Aziraphale described him as selfless.

Tears made long wet tracks down Aziraphale’s face as chuckles turned to cries and he wept as quietly as he could. All that Aziraphale had done in the past few days came back to him, each choice asking to be acknowledged and counted. Instead of the twisting anxiety in the pit of his stomach that he usually felt when contemplating his own decisions, Aziraphale felt a deep sense of peace settle over him. He regretted nothing. No, more than that. Aziraphale knew through and through that he would do it all again. He would make each and every choice the same, even knowing that it was bringing death to his door.

Choose your faces wisely. Aziraphale hoped that it would work. Aziraphale believed that it would. Agnes Nutter had led them right so far, so why not this? Why not one more miracle? But if it did not, if Heaven succeeded in destroying him, Aziraphale knew that he would choose it all again. He would stand with humanity against the destruction of the world. He would stand hand and hand with Crowley. Their own side. Oh yes, after six thousand years on Earth, Aziraphale had finally lived. After six thousand years on Earth, Aziraphale finally knew what was right. He finally knew what he himself wanted. Or perhaps he’d always known, in his heart. Yes, Aziraphale acknowledged to himself, with a little shake of his head, he had always known, hadn’t he? He had known right from the very Beginning. Aziraphale had just needed to listen. Six thousand years to learn how to listen.

Aziraphale sighed and wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. He would face death without regret. And yet, he thought— fingers carding softly through dear Crowley’s crimson hair— and yet, he wanted to live. More than ever before, more than he’d ever imagined possible, oh Lord above, Aziraphale wanted to live.


End file.
